No Problem, Son
by BlackBandit111
Summary: Oneshot. Shawn gets sick with the flu, and Henry comes to take care of him. Fluffly. Shawn/Henry Father/Son fic. Better than summary.


**Okay, you know what guys, I'm hurt you don't review, seriously. Review. Seriously.**

Shawn sniffed again and sneezed, his body giving a violent jerk in bed before settling again. He felt absolutely terrible; his eyes were watery and itchy and tired, constantly twitching. His nose was irritated and red, hurting every time he sniffed or sneezed. His throat was beyond sore, red and swollen from his post nasal drip. He also had an earache, which burned every time he put something in or on his ear- medicine or no.

He had a fever and what he assumed was the flu; he hadn't gone to see a doctor, because he had no strength to get out of bed today, much less drive his motorcycle. His phone was charging next to him on his bedside table, and he had a cool cloth laying across his head.

He also had a pot laying in his queen bed next to him, for he had felt nauseous all morning and just didn't have the energy to run to the bathroom or even to the wastebasket to empty his stomach. His phone started buzzing and vibrating, and he reached a slow, dead hand out to answer it.

"Hullo?" He said groggily, his voice nasally and clogged from his stuffy nose.

"Shawn?" Juliet's voice came from the other end of the line.

"Jules!" He wheezed. "'Ow arb do?" He sniffed, then sneezed. She clicked her tongue,

"Oh Shawn, you sound horrible." She crooned.

"I feel 'orrible." He answered. "What do callig abou?" He sneezed again, and grabbed a nearby tissue to blow his painful nose.

"I thought we could get you on a case..." She trailed off.

"I'b sowwy, Jules." He coughed hard, hacking until he was gasping for breath. When he caught it, he continued. "I'b got no energy wight now. I can 'ardly get ouwta bed..." He wheezed.

"I'm so sorry you're feeling so lousy, Shawn. Should I stop by later?" Juliet sounded very concerned, although Shawn could hear she was probably busy for the next few days.

"No, dat's otay, Jules," Shawn replied.

"Are you sure you're not getting any psychic readings?"

"I'b sowwy, Jules. Da spirits arb beig difficuld. By psychic ju ju is blocked." In truth, Shawn Spencer was not really psychic, the department and all of his clients as well as the town population believed he was. Besides his father and Gus, no one knew he had an eidetic memory and hyper observation skills. He needed to be at the crime scene to get a "reading" from the spirits. Really, he just saw overlooked evidence. The SBPD were really idiots sometimes.

"Okay. Are you sure I shouldn't stop by later and check up?"

"I'b otay. Is Gus dere?"

"Yeah. He's been waiting for you. He tried calling you like, three times already."

"Tell him I'b sowwy. I was pwobably asleep or somedig."

"Will do, Shawn. I'll tell Chief too. Are you there all alone?" Shawn groaned, beginning to feel worse. He needed to take his medicine, but it was in the bathroom cabinet...and that would mean getting up...and it was so far away...

"Yes."

"I'm going to send Lassiter over to-"

"No!" Shawn interrupted, sniffing loudly, "No, dat's otay. Lassie's pwobaby busy wight now..." he trailed off, another coughing fit rattling through his currently fragile frame.

"Well I don't want you to be alone. I'm calling Henry."

"No! Not by dad!" Shawn exclaimed, mortified.

"I'm calling Henry. Bye, Shawn. Feel better," Juliet said.

"No! Jules-" but the line went flat. Shawn sighed. Great; he was sick, feeling like crud, and now he was stuck with his dad all day. Anyone would've been better. Even Lassie. Shawn's eyelids fluttered until they were shut and he fitfully dozed, waiting for his dad.

* * *

It seemed like seconds later that his dad was bustling around his bedroom, making so much _noise_. Shawn coughed, opening one eye blearily and croaking, "Dad?"

Henry came into his line of vision, wearing tan jean shorts and an orange shirt with mini palm trees all over it. "Hey bud," Henry said softly, as to not aggravate Shawn's headache further, "How you doing?"

But as soon as Henry asked that question, Shawn bolted into a sitting position in bed, leaned over to his left and was violently sick in the pot. Henry was at a bit of a loss at what to do, but, parental instincts taking over, he began to rub circles about his son's back. He winced as he heard Shawn's violent gasps at attempts to fill his lungs with air. Henry murmured reassurances to him as he felt Shawn give a huge jerk under his hand as he finished, flopping back on to his pillows and instinctively taking one and placing it against his stomach.

Henry leaned over his shuddering son, saying quietly, "I'm just going to rinse the pot. Do you think you'll be sick again?" Shawn's glassy hazel eyes met Henry's own, and Henry took the slow blink as a yes. "Be right back," He muttered gruffly, grabbing the pot and heading to the master bathroom. Once inside he rinsed it out as fast as he could and placed it back next to Shawn in bed.

"Shawn?" Henry asked softly, sounding much gentler than usual. He hated to see his son hurt, much less sick. He couldn't remember the last time Shawn had been so horribly sick as he was now. "Shawn?"

Shawn's eyes were closed, but his breathing was ragged, which made Henry aware that Shawn wasn't asleep. But the young man did not seem aware of his surroundings; when his eyes opened, he looked mildly surprised that someone was in front of him. "Kid, when are you supposed to take your medication?"

Shawn looked a bit confused as he answered slowly, "uh...like, dirty minutes ago...why?" Henry shook his head.

"Where are they?"

"In dah cabinet. In dah badroom." Henry nodded, promising to be right back, and fetching the meds he poured Shawn a glass of water. After Shawn took his pills and drank a good amount of water, albeit slowly, he laid back and gazed at his father.

"You don' 'ave to be here you dough." Shawn said coughing. Henry sighed.

He knew Shawn wanted him to leave, but Henry was sure Shawn also knew that any attempt to make him go was futile. He also realized that Shawn was almost challenging him; he wanted to see if he would leave him alone. Hrnry knew his son didn't want him to leave, especially when he was sick.

So Henry sucked it up, swallowed his pride, and told his son what he needed to hear.

"Shawn, I do. You're my son, no matter how much you deny it, and you're sick. And I'm gonna take care of you, whether you like it or not." Shawn huffed, but didn't say anything else. Henry knew that the young man was secretly relieved.

Suddenly, another coughing fit claimed Shawn, and Henry was there to support Shawn's back and help him sit up. He helped his son tip back a sip of water and then lower him back down onto the now properly propped pillows.

But as soon as this was done, however, Shawn was retching in the pot again. Henry sighed, an overwhelming feeling of sympathy for his poor sick son overcoming him as he comforted him again. The purging lasted a while before Shawn leaned back, closing his eyes.

"I'll be right back," Henry said again, taking the pot once more and rinsing. He placed it back in its proper place. Then, he went and grabbed a chair from the kitchen to set it up next to Shawn's bedside to watch over him. Henry was very shocked when Shawn's hand reached out, grabbing for his own. Henry gently took it, running his thumb over the top, and he heard the boy brokenly whisper, "it hurts."

"I know, kid, I know." He assured. "Sleep, Shawn." Shawn shook his head. Henry sighed; why did his thirty year old son act so difficult and like a five year old sometimes? "I'm here, and I'm not leaving. I promise. Sleep." Shawn stared at him.

"This, reminds me of a story," Henry started, and Shawn groaned, "But I think you'll like this one.

There were once three brothers walking down a winding road at twilight..." Shawn was asleep within minutes.

* * *

**Yes, that's the first line to the tales of beetle and the bard from Harry Potter. Note: I don't own that either. And I can recite that story word for word.**

* * *

Henry did not leave when Shawn fell asleep, though. He sat there, opening a fishing magazine he happened to grab on his way out but read thousands of times, leaning back to enjoy. But before he could, Shawn gave a start.

"Shawn?" Henry queried as his son rolled over. He made a moaning sound, and gave a little spastic movement on the bed.

_"Dad,"_ Shawn mumbled, "Dad...no...come back...I'm right here, Dad...please don't leave me all alone..." Henry was confused by Shawn's words, but knew that he wasn't talking to him; directly, that is. Whatever he was dreaming about...

"No. I don't wanna jump...don't make me..." Shawn whined. Henry felt the growing feeling of unease in his stomach. "Please just...stop the car..."

And then it all clicked for the former detective. Shawn was having a night terror about Garth Longmore. Or, that was his fake name. Henry knew that the experience of being shot and kidnapped for three days had traumatized Shawn, but not like this. The incident had been three months ago-Shawn's arm was even out of his cast. Henry thought the young man had seen someone- anyone- but, knowing Shawn, he probably only told Henry that so he wouldn't worry. Or be on him about. Maybe both.

"Give me the gun, Lassie," Pulled Henry out of his thoughts as his son commanded the subconscious form of the salt and pepper haired detective as he drove his car down the highway. "I have the shot...give me the gun..." Shawn made a strange flailing motion with his arms.

"Shawn," Henry called loudly, reaching out and grabbing his son's wrists so as to stop him from hurting himself, "Shawn, son, wake up."

"Please," Shawn pleaded softly in his sleep, "Don't-don't hurt m-me..."

"Shawn, wake," Henry gave him a hard shove, "Up. Now!" But this was, apparently, not the smartest thing to do; for Shawn reacted rather violently and gave a hard flinch. He bolted up and scooted away from his father, eyes wide and open but he was obviously not entirely awake. Henry tried a different approach.

"Shawn? It's me, Hen- your dad. You're safe, in your house. You've been sick. You were dreaming." Shawn shook his head, starting to tremble. "I swear it's me, Shawn." Something like a fog lifted from Shawn's eyes, and he glanced around holding his head.

"Dad?" He murmured. Henry nodded, helping Shawn lie back down.

"Yeah son, I'm here," Henry assured, but Shawn was probably already out like a light.

This was until he answered in a barely audible voice, "Danks, Dad..." Before dropping off completely. Henry ran a hand over his tired face, settling back into his chair and opening his fishing magazine again.

He wondered how long Shawn had been having nightmares about Garth Longmore, and if Henry was there to save him, but walked right by and made Shawn feel helpless and alone.

* * *

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, despite Shawn's sneezing or coughing fits in which his father was ready to help him sit up and had a glass of water and a tissue. The nightmares hadn't returned.

"Danks," Shawn would sniff.

"No problem, son." Would always be the reply.

"Dad?" Shawn asked. Henry didn't respond, so Shawn continued. "Why arb do still here?" This was followed by a sneeze.

"Because like I said before Shawn, I'm going to take care of you. And you can bet your arse that I'm not leaving, thank you very much." After the words were spoken though, Henry realized he sounded very gruff and hoped it didn't sound as angry, disappointed and short tempered as he thought it did.

Judging by the look on Shawn's face, it did though.

Shawn didn't look angry, just sad and more upset. It did not go unnoticed by Henry though that his son's eyes had filled with unshed tears he was trying to desperately blink back.

Henry was immediately ashamed of himself, and focused on rectifying the mistake.

"What I meant, was," Henry paused for a deep breath, praying his voice sounded softer, "Is that I'm already here and you're not a burden at all. You're sick, and I don't want you in the house alone, in case you need something. I don't want you over exerting yourself."

Shawn smiled and looked genuinely more relaxed. "Oh...well then...thanks, Dad."

"No problem, son."

**_THE END_**


End file.
